LXVI.

But thou, Clitumnus[447]! in thy sweetest wave Of the most living crystal that was e'er The haunt of river-Nymph, to gaze and lave Her limbs where nothing hid them, thou dost rear Thy grassy banks whereon the milk-white steer[448] Grazes--the purest God of gentle waters! And most serene of aspect, and most clear; Surely that stream was unprofaned by slaughters-- A mirror and a bath for Beauty's youngest daughters!